


He Followed Me Home, Can I Keep Him?

by MsBarrows



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Prompt Fill, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBarrows/pseuds/MsBarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted in my "In The Maker's Light" ficlet collection, this is a pair of prompt fills where Zevran returns to Vigil's Keep after a visit to Kirkwall - and doesn't return alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akatsuki_Celeste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akatsuki_Celeste/gifts).



The news that Zevran was back from the north had Aedan springing from his chair and heading from his office down to the entrance hall at a very fast pace. Not running, of course, it wouldn’t do to be seen _running_ just to greet Zevran’s arrival, but he walked very fast indeed, bursting into the hall to find Zevran already surrounded by a small group of Grey Wardens and servants.

Not that Aedan even particularly noticed them, other than as minor obstacles that hastily removed themselves from his path as he headed over to Zevran, coming to an abrupt halt just a step away from the assassin, running his eyes over Zevran from head to toe, reassuring himself that the blighted elf was all right. And he was; he looked fine. A little tired maybe, and dusty from the road, but both were so common an occurrence to not even particularly register on Aedan.

The stained bandage wrapped around his left wrist; that registered. The glorious smile Zevran gave Aedan, moving a half-step closer as he did so, that _definitely_ registered. The smell of him, too, all leather and spice and unwashed musky male scent, that registered to far more than just Aedan’s nose. It made him want to grab Zevran and kiss the living daylights out of him, and then maybe drag him down to the floor and show him just how very much he’d missed him… but that was another of those things that just wouldn’t do, like running to him, or grabbing and hugging him and refusing to let go, so he settled for returning the smile. “Good to have you back,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even and calm, rather than shouting joyfully.

Zevran’s smile widened, just slightly. “Good to be here to be had,” he said, one eyelid flickering slightly lower in just the tiniest hint of a wink.

Aedan had to turn his gaze elsewhere for a moment. Only then did he become aware that Zevran had company; that he’d brought someone to the keep. Someone young, and so androgynously pretty that Aedan wasn’t in the least sure what sex the stranger was. “And who is this?” he asked.

Zevran’s smile faltered slightly. “Ah. Feynriel, this is my… this is the Warden-Commander, Aedan Cousland. Aedan, this is Feynriel – a _friend_ of mine. I acquired him up north.”

Aedan frowned slightly, shooting Zevran a questioning look, then eyeing the young man. The _very_ young man – a teenager still, if he had to guess, or just barely into his twenties perhaps. He looked a little like Zevran, actually – like a faded version of him, platinum blond hair and light gold eyes and pale ivory skin where Zevran was all darker warm sunny gold tones. He was also tired looking – even more so than Zevran seemed – and more than a touch frightened, clearly nervous to be surrounded by so many strangers. Aedan didn’t miss noticing the way Feynriel moved closer to Zevran, nor the way Zevran unobtrusively reached out and squeezed his arm lightly, reassuringly. Ah. A _friend_ as in someone Zevran had chosen to take to his bed, if he was reading the body language between them right. Not the first time Zevran had come back having enjoyed escapades abroad, but the first time he’d ever actually brought home one of his conquests.

Aedan could feel a frown settling over his face, see it reflected in how studiously blank Zevran’s own expression became. “I fear we need to talk, my warden,” Zevran said, very quietly.

Aedan shot Feynriel another look, then nodded. “All right. Get your friend settled first,” he said, then turned and marched off back to his office, feeling annoyed and angry, and further annoyed that he _was_ angry. They’d never agreed to be exclusive, even if they _had_ exchanged certain small, meaningful pieces of jewellery. He’d known that Zevran would often need to go afield on business of his own, and sometimes as part of that business, or even perhaps just out of general loneliness, he might briefly take a lover somewhere else. Aedan knew it wouldn’t phase Zevran at all if he found someone to slake his own lusts with when Zevran was unavailable, though he’d only once taken advantage of that tacit permission, and hadn’t cared for the experience enough to ever repeat it. But for Zevran to actually bring back such a chance-met lover… that worried him. And angered him. It _changed_ things.

He hadn’t been back in his office for very long when Zevran slipped quietly in, closing the door silently behind him, still dressed in the dust-streaked clothes from his journey here. “Is that brandy?” Zevran asked, nodding to the decanter Aedan held in one hand. Aedan flushed, and nodded, filling the empty glass that he’d been holding forgotten in the other hand, passing it to Zevran before pouring one for himself.

Zevran took a sizable sip of his, then sighed in pleasure, smacking his lips. “Antivan brandy; very nice,” he said, then walked over to settle one hip on the corner of Aedan’s desk, bracing one foot against the floor and crossing his legs, hands resting draped over his lap. “You are angry with me for bringing Feynriel here, and frightened about why I have done such a thing,” he said forthrightly.

Aedan flushed, and knocked back half his drink, topping it up again before walking around the desk to drop heavily into his chair. Zevran always had been able to see right through him. “Yes,” he admitted. “ _Why_ did you bring him?”

Zevran sighed. “A very long story. The short form of it was that he is an apostate mage, a half-elven one, and was in great danger where he was. He had been taken in by a tribe of Dalish – ones who also gave me some small amount of shelter – but the templars of Kirkwall had become aware of his presence and were planning to take him into custody. At his age, and given the particular powers he has, it is very likely they would have made him tranquil, rather than harrowing him. He and I had become… close, during my stay with the Dalish; his human father is Antivan, you see, so he was very interested in hearing about the country from me, and he is beautiful, and… well, one thing led to another, as sometimes happens. Anyway, I could not leave him to the templars, and I owed the Dalish for their having given me some degree of protection while I was there. So I told the Keeper I would bring him here, where he has at least some chance of a good life.”

Aedan frowned, long association with Zevran allowing him to easily pick out the bit of information that Zevran had tried to skim by without calling attention to it. “What particular powers?”

Zevran sighed, and made a face, taking another drink of his brandy before answering. “He is what the elves of ancient Arlathan would have called a _somniari_  – a dreamer. A _true_ dreamer, one who can enter the Fade at will, shape and mold it to fit their desires. They can see and even change the dreams of others.”

“Don’t some blood mages do that?” Aedan asked suspiciously. “I’ve heard they can enter dreams and influence people’s thoughts with blood magic.”

“Some, yes, but theirs is only a course imitation of the powers of a somniari, requiring considerable blood shed to enact even small changes. Like trying to make a fine wood carving with a dull adze, while the somniari has many very small and very sharp carving tools instead. Anyway, his powers can be a danger, both to himself and those around him; demons are particularly attracted to his kind, it is said, and few somniari learn to master themselves before falling victim to one. Those that do survive, however… they are the stuff of legend.”

That made Aedan frown. “And yet you brought him here, even knowing what a danger he might be? What if he does fall prey to a demon? What then?”

“I do not believe he will,” Zevran said calmly. “He has already been through what could be called a harrowing; he _did_ almost fall prey to demons, while still little more than a child. But several surprisingly brave people entered the Fade, and helped him to see through the illusions the demons had used to ensnare him. In the end he rejected the demons, and now he knows to be wary of them, knows what traps they might set for him, and how to overcome them. I think few demons would risk trying to influence him now that he has come into his powers; they are beings of the Fade, after all, and he can unmake them as easily as he can reshape the Fade itself.”

That made Aedan’s eyes light up with interest. “Now _that_ sounds promising,” he said. “We may have dealt with the worst of the darkspawn, but it seems that there’s never an end to demons and abominations. If he’d be of use fighting those…”

“Which he certainly would be,” Zevran said, more than a little smugly. “I am not saying you should make a Grey Warden out of him – in fact I would tend to advise against it, since there is no knowing how warden nightmares would interact with his peculiar powers. But I think he is better off here than elsewhere, and you can protect him from templars better than any other I can think of. Besides, the other option they were considering was to send him to Tevinter. Can you imagine what a horror his powers might be in the hands of the magisters?” Zevran said, and his shudder was anything but theatrical.

Aedan scowled. “Agreed,” he said. “All right. He can stay. Just… how is this going to work? Are you and he still an item? What about _us?_ ”

Zevran frowned slightly, and shrugged. “I made it clear to him that I am in a relationship with someone else, though I have not yet told him who. And while I like him, and would wish to still be his friend, that our relationship as anything more than friends likely ends with our arrival here.”

“Likely? Not definitely?” Aedan asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Zevran smiled, and rose to his feet, setting down his now-empty glass before walking around the desk. He climbed up into the chair, straddling Aedan’s lap, his arms moving to drape loosely around Aedan’s neck. “I am yours,” he said softly. “You know this.”

Aedan swallowed heavily and nodded, his arms rising to fold around the elf’s waist, automatically pulling him close. “Yes,” he said huskily. “But Feynriel?”

“I will admit I am a little smitten with him,” Zevran said with his usual frankness, an honesty that Aedan treasured – even when, as now, it stung – because he knew how few people Zevran trusted enough to speak honestly with them. Zevran smiled, his hands rising to card into Aedan’s shaggy mess of hair, pulling him closer, forcing him to meet Zevran’s eyes. “But I am rather more than merely _smitten_ with you. Anyway, it’s mainly just that he reminds me of a certain other overly innocent and ridiculously powerful and dangerous young man I once met,” he said, his faint smile and the kiss he gave Aedan making it clear just what other young man he was referring to. Not so young, now, nor anywhere near as innocent, either. But certainly still powerful, and dangerous.

Aedan relaxed, soothed by the contact, and suddenly wanting nothing more than to carry Zevran off to his bedroom, lock the door for the night, and reacquaint Zevran with Grey Warden stamina. By the gleam in the elf’s eyes and a certain increasing pressure down where the assassin’s leather-clad groin was pressed up against his stomach, the elf was entertaining similar thoughts. He forced his thoughts back on track. “And Feynriel?” he asked.

Zevran sighed, and sat back a little. “You are being almost annoyingly persistent tonight, my warden. All right. I think you might find him… rather intriguing, as well.”

Aedan frowned. “You wish me to… with _him?_ ”

“Why not? We have spoken before of perhaps sharing our bed with a third, and the fun that could be. I like the boy already; I am convinced you will like him too, once you get to know him a little better.”

Aedan’s frown deepened. “But he’s so _young_ …”

Zevran shrugged, and pressed himself up against Aedan again, closing his arms around the man’s shoulders again. “Older then he looks, actually – older than you were when you seduced me.”

“You mean when you seduced _me_ ,” Aedan corrected him.

Zevran grinned. “When we seduced each other,” he said, then his expression darkened. “He is no innocent, Aedan. He has walked the dreams of men and women alike since his powers first woke; _seen_ their dreams, not just the nice ones but the dark dreams and the nightmares too. He is well aware of just how wide a range of things people may enjoy doing with or to each other. The surprising thing is that it hasn’t turned him off of sex entirely. But instead it’s more like me, and being raised in a whorehouse – it has made him extremely accepting, and open. And _interested_. I think if we did happen to invite him to join us, it would be a very enjoyable night for all three of us,” he said, then leaned forward, pretty much draping himself over Aedan, his lips right beside Aedan’s ear.

“Imagine it, my warden,” he whispered, voice a low purr. “You and I and he all in bed together, he and I happily attending to your needs. Imagine what we could do together, the three of us. What would you like more, I wonder, you being between he and I, or you and I having that pretty young man between the two of us, hrmm?”

Aedan shivered, his arms closing hard around Zevran, hugging him tightly. “You are an evil man, Zevran,” he said, voice more than a little husky. “All right. I’ll at least consider it. But right now… tonight… I just want _you_ , in my room and in my bed, as quickly as can be accomplished.”

Zevran shivered, just a little bit, and pulled back his head to smile warmly at Aedan. “Of course, my warden. But can there be a bath first, perhaps? I stink and I itch, and I am longing to have my hair properly washed.”

Aedan laughed, then rose to his feet, Zevran’s legs clamping around his waist. “All right. A bath first. And supper. But then bed, and I don’t want to hear another word about anyone else until morning. All right?” he asked.

“Of course,” Zevran agreed, smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

Aedan found himself watching Zevran and Feynriel whenever they were together, feeling at least a little jealous over seeing his lover with another man. Seeing the way the assassin talked to the mage, the way he’d smile, and reach out to lightly touch his arm; never anything more than that, but even that was more affection than Aedan had ever seen him show to anyone but Aedan himself. But he also found himself noticing how shy the mage seemed, the way his head would bend, long hair falling forward to hide his face, the rosey blushes that coloured his cheeks, the occasional brief smile as Zevran teased him about something.

He was beautiful. Tall and slender and graceful, and Zevran’s words would not leave his head. The suggestion that Aedan share his bed with _both_ of them… He alternated between feeling annoyed with Zevran for suggesting it – though it had been Aedan himself that had first ever suggested that it might be fun to have a third person in their bed – and feeling increasingly interested. Intrigued. Distracted by the idea, at odd times of the day, finding himself standing and watching the young mage, imagining him in their bed, all pale skin and paler hair and blushes.

“One night,” he finally told Zevran, hating himself a little for agreeing, as if it was a betrayal of what there was between the elf and himself, even if it was Zevran who had suggested the mage for it. “We’ll try one night and see how it goes.”

Zevran gave him little chance to change his mind; he came back from dinner that evening to find the elf and the mage sitting on his bed, waiting for him. Zevran was stretched out at his ease, wearing a short robe of dark green silk trimmed with twisted gold cord that Aedan had given him as a gift, years ago. The way he was lying on the bed – head propped on one hand, the other holding a glass of brandy, one leg bent and lifted a little – the robe was just barely decent.

The mage was dressed in a similar robe, a much longer and fuller one, of pale blue silk edged in a band of silver-grey satiny cloth that brought out his own much paler colouring. His legs were folded to one side, both hands cupped around a second glass of brandy, his long hair caught at the back in a simple ponytail and trailing forward over one shoulder. He kept his head lowered, but a blush coloured his cheeks as Aedan stared at the pair of them, momentarily frozen and unsure of what to do.

“Join us,” Zevran said, making a seemingly-careless gesture with the hand holding his glass, motioning to where Aedan’s own robe – a paler green than Zevran’s, but otherwise quite similar – was waiting draped over the back of a chair nearby, a glass of brandy sitting waiting on the table beside it.

Aedan frowned for a moment, then at Zevran’s lifted eyebrow turned away, feeling unaccountably self-conscious as he quickly stripped down and pulled on the robe. It was something that wouldn’t have bothered him in the least if it had just been Zevran there, but he felt all too aware of the stranger in their room, in their bed. Only not quite a stranger; not to Zevran, anyway, who had taken the mage as a lover before. He shivered slightly as he picked up his own glass of brandy and took a sip of it, mind filled with the mental image of the two together, dark gold and light.

He turned and walked over to stand by the bed, pausing there, hesitant. Zevran rose to his knees, holding his glass carefully off to one side as his other hand knotted in the front of Aedan’s robe, tugging him closer, pulling him down into a kiss, all warm lips and questing tongue and taste of brandy. He felt calmer when the elf released him, the kiss being such a familiar thing, and when Zevran settled back and patted the bedding beside him, lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed.

Zevran took his hand, lacing their fingers together as they both sipped at their drinks, and squeezed it reassuringly. “Tell me what you would like, my warden,” he said, voice low and smooth. “What intrigues you most; the thought of Feynriel and I pleasuring each other while you watch? Both of us pleasuring you? Perhaps you’d like to take him, while I assist? Something else?”

His mouth went dry at the thought of so many options, of how much possibility there was in having a third body in their bed. He could feel his cock stirring, hardening in interest at the thoughts running through his head. It was easy to pick out what he’d fantasized about most, the times he hadn’t been able to keep his thoughts off the young man. He took another sip of his brandy, almost a gulp, and felt his cheeks flushing. “Feynriel between us,” he said, voice husky with more than the brandy. “While you pleasure him.”

Feynriel’s pale gold eyes flicked up to meet his for a moment, the mage’s cheeks flushing darker.

Zevran grinned. “An excellent choice,” he said warmly, and set aside his brandy glass, leaning over to lightly kiss Feynriel’s cheek as he plucked the glass from the mage’s hands. “Let me show my warden how beautiful you are,” he whispered throatily, just loud enough for Aedan to hear the words as well; hear them, and feel intrigued and excited by the prospect.

“But first, let us get you arranged,” Zevran said, turning back to Aedan, and chivvied him to the middle of the bed, leaning back against a tall pile of cushions at the head of the bed, legs spread enough that there was room for Feynriel to kneel between his shins, Zevran moving around to kneel behind the mage in turn.

Aedan swallowed the last of his brandy and leaned over to put aside his glass as well, then settled comfortably back against the cushions, studying the mage. He had his feet tucked neatly under him, his hands lying lax in his lap, head lowered once again. He didn’t seem at all nervous; a little self-conscious maybe, yes, at least judging by his blush, but calm and composed, seeming almost passive as he waited for Zevran to make the next move.

Zevran’s eyes briefly met Aedan’s over the man’s shoulder, then Zevran lowered his head, lips brushing softly against the back of Feynriel’s neck as he pulled out the tie holding the mage’s hair, freeing it to cascade down around his shoulders. Aedan’s hands tightened just slightly on the covers of the bed; he’d always liked long hair, and Feynriel’s hair was very long – almost waist-length – and looked as fine and soft as gossamer.

Zevran lifted a lock of it, pressing it briefly to his own lips as his eyes once again met Aedan’s, an amused smile twitching at his lips for a moment; _he_ knew what Aedan liked. Then he carefully grasped the collar of Feynriel’s robe and drew it slowly open, pulling the silky fabric off the man’s shoulders and letting it slide down his back and arms to pool around Feynriel’s waist and across his lap, his forearms buried under the folds of soft fabric.

Aedan drew a single deeper breath, and held it for a moment. Zevran had mentioned the man was half-elven; it hadn’t really shown before, but now, noting how narrow chested Feynriel was, not even a trace of hair visible on his arms or chest, and just the faintest hint of downy hair under his arms, he could see it. There was something about the shape of the ears, too… not pointed, as a full elf’s ears would be, but certainly not quite as smoothly rounded as human ears, either. At a casual glance, fully human, but with a closer study, just slightly, exotically _other_.

Zevran, meanwhile, was letting his own robe slip open to the same degree, though he drew his own arms free of the enveloping cloth, leaving it kept on only by the belt around the waist of it. He slid his arms around Feynriel, hugging him, turning his head to kiss the side of the mage’s face, then lifted one hand to guide Feynriel into turning his head as well, kissing him on the lips. Aedan could only stare, taken with the contrast between them – so similar in colouring, and yet so different. Zevran’s dark gold skin looked all the darker compared to Feynriel’s ivory complexion; his hair, which usually seemed so light, was almost brassy next to Feynriel’s white-gold locks.

Aedan’s own breathing deepened as he watched the two kissing; not once, but several times, each kiss longer, deeper. The blush on Feynriel’s cheeks had turned to a rather decided flush, darkening the skin of his throat and upper chest too, and he was no longer just passively accepting the kiss, but leaning back against Zevran, his head tilting for a better angle, his lips and tongue working as well. His arms jerked once or twice, as if trying to reach for Zevran only to be stopped by the fabric of the robe. Feynriel was panting when Zevran finally settled back, holding the mage braced upright with a hand on each arm.

“Well done,” Zevran said approvingly. “Now I would like you to kiss Aedan as well,” he instructed.

Feynriel’s head turned, his eyes meeting Aedan’s, an evaluative look, without fear, then he rose up on his knees, leaving his arms trapped within his robe, and shuffled forward, managing what should have been an awkward act with a surprising amount of grace. His arms moved from across his lap to hanging at his sides as he moved forward, stretching the enveloping fabric of his robe taut enough to reveal a rather sizable bulge hidden under the layers of cloth.

Aedan moved, spreading his legs further and sitting up out of his reclining posture as the mage drew closer, making it easier for the man to reach him. Upright on his knees as he was, Feynriel’s head was above Aedan’s own; the mage had to bend down to kiss him. Used to being the tall one in any kiss, it was an intriguingly different experience to be the one looking upwards, tilting his head back and a little to one side to accommodate the other man.

The first kiss was tentative, both of them a little wary. The second was firmer, Feynriel leaning it into a little, his balance just a little unsteady on the yielding surface of the mattress. Aedan reached up to set his hands to either side of the man’s waist, helping him to stay upright. His skin seemed almost hot to the touch from the spreading flush of arousal, and Feynriel moaned softly as Aedan’s hands skimmed along his flanks, leaning further into the kiss, tongue probing gently at Aedan’s lips. Aedan growled encouragement, opening his own mouth further, letting the mage taste him, then tasting him in return. He lifted one hand from the man’s waist, twining his fingers into the mage’s long hair, which felt just as silky-soft as it had looked. He was dimly aware of Zevran moving up behind Feynriel, the elf’s hands skimming over Feynriel’s body, then brushing gently over Aedan’s arms and forearms, reaching between them to tug on the fabric of his robe, untying his belt and letting it fall open.

“Lie down again, Aedan,” Zevran said when the kissing finally ended, one hand pushing firmly on his shoulder for a moment. He did so, watching while Zevran kissed and briefly petted Feynriel, whispering to him approvingly, drawing a happy smile from the mage, then guided him into turning around, and settling back against Aedan.

Aedan hesitantly shifted position, guided by light touches from Zevran, ending with his legs out before him, just slightly spread, with his arms around Feynriel, supporting the mage. Feynriel had his legs spread wide over Aedan’s thighs, arms still caught in the fabric of his robe. Aedan’s erection was trapped out of sight under Feynriel, tucked between his own stomach and Feynriel’s naked buttocks, a position he was not at all adverse too.

Zevran had pulled his own robe back up, but removed his belt, letting it gape open, his cock jutting proudly forward from his groin, erect and moist-tipped, the head flushed dark with the elf’s excitement. He moved to kneel between Aedan’s legs, then carefully, almost delicately, folded back the layers of Feynriel’s robe to expose the mage’s erection as well. Aedan watched over the other man’s shoulder, noticing how Feynriel’s cock had just a small nest of short downy curls around its base; more than the faint velvety fuzz that coated Zevran’s groin and balls, but nothing like the thick dark curls that Aedan himself had. He moved one hand down to brush his fingertips against the hair, fascinated by the difference in texture, causing Feynriel to startle slightly at the unexpected touch. The slight shift in position changed the pressure of the mage's buttocks against Aedan, startling a gasp out of him as his own cock hardened further in response. Zevran grinned briefly.

“This should be quite entertaining for all of us,” he said, almost solemnly, then set his hands on Feynriel’s thighs and leaned forward and down, flicking his tongue out to lick briefly at Feynriel’s cock. It drew a gasp from the mage. Zevran lifted his head just long enough to give both of them a mischievous look, then lowered his head again, closing his lips around the head of the mage’s cock.

Aedan found it fascinating to watch his lover sucking and licking at another man. Especially when his own arms were wrapped around that other man, hands busy exploring and caressing his so-warm flesh, and every shift of Feynriel’s body in response to Zevran’s busy lips and tongue or Aedan’s questing hands made the mage’s buttocks shift intriguingly against Aedan’s own erection. He couldn’t see all that Zevran was doing, the assassin’s head and hair often obscuring his view, but he could very well imagine some of what Zevran was doing, from his own experience with that very talented mouth.

When one of Zevran’s hands slid down off Feynriel’s thigh and moved out of sight, he easily guessed what the elf was about to do, and found himself grinning when Feynriel suddenly gave a cry and arched backwards. He nuzzled into the man’s hair, licking and nipping at his ear, and was pleasantly surprised when Feynriel craned his head around far enough to share a particularly heated kiss, crying out again as Zevran did increasingly exciting things down below.

After a few minutes of this Aedan found himself unable to remain still any longer, and braced his feet against the mattress, giving himself the leverage needed to roll his own hips a little, his erection sliding back and forth against Feynriel’s buttocks, erratically at first with a little painful catching of flesh-against-flesh, then becoming a smoother glide as its path was slicked by Feynriel’s sweat and Aedan’s own pre-come. Zevran made an approving sound, his mouth too full of Feynriel to speak, and Feynriel jerked and cried out at the sensation, drawing a low cry in turn from Aedan. For a few minutes everything resolved down to the slide of flesh against flesh, the soft cries or moans or growls they were each making in their shared excitement.

He could tell when the mage came undone, feeling him tense and arch and try to thrust, not that he could move very freely with Aedan’s arms wrapped tightly around him and Zevran holding down one of his thighs. Aedan growled and thrust harder up against him, biting down on the man’s shoulder to muffle his outcry as he, too, came a few strokes later, his spend pulsing out to dampen his stomach and soak the back of Feynriel’s robe.

Zevran was all over the two of them, murmuring appreciative, approving words as he gently disentangled them, helped the mage out of his stained robe, wiped them both clean, and got all three of them settled together in bed, Aedan between the other two men. Zevran leaned over him towards Feynriel, pushing the mage’s long sweat-soaked hair back from his face with obvious affection before kissing him, a single rather lengthy and very thorough kiss. Then he moved to kiss Aedan in turn, smiling broadly for a moment, and looking very pleased about how things had gone. Aedan hugged him as well as he could with just the one arm, his other arm still wrapped around Feynriel’s shoulders. Zevran’s mouth tasted different than usual, of brandy and a musky saltiness that must be Feynriel, and Aedan found the difference, the knowledge of what that taste was, surprisingly exciting. When Feynriel moved to kiss him once Zevran was done, he enjoyed it more than he earlier would have thought possible. It felt… nice. Very nice; comfortable and comforting, and just the right way to acknowledge the closeness and pleasure they had just shared. Having the two men snuggled up against either side of him, their arms draped across his chest, heads resting on his shoulders, was a very nice and comforting feeling as well.

“We need to do something about you, too,” he pointed out, nodding to where Zevran’s erection was pressed against his thigh.

Zevran’s grin widened. “I’m sure the three of us can think of something to do with it,” he said agreeably. “Once we’ve rested a little bit. Though not too long a rest, as I know you have little need of one. Perhaps if we work hard at it, Feynriel and I might even be able to tire you out, yes?”

Aedan laughed softly, and grinned as he settled back against the cushions. Perhaps this might work out after all, he found himself thinking.


End file.
